


I Cannot Find the Words

by tupti



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward!Geralt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Kiss, Gaslighting, Gentle Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Idiots in Love, M/M, Past Abuse, Pining, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23445313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tupti/pseuds/tupti
Summary: Geralt is not well-versed with words, so he is going to take his feelings for Jaskier to the grave. Or is he?orGeralt meets Jaskier’s parents and it doesn’t go well.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 33
Kudos: 735





	I Cannot Find the Words

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t read the books, so sorry if I butcher canon. Jaskier’s backstory seems to be sufficiently vague, though.

Geralt was not in a good mood. This job didn’t turn out to be what it had promised. A harpy queen was supposed to be terrorising Lettenhove, a town in the Kingdom of Kerack. These creatures were extremely rare and the price put on this specimen’s particular head was quite considerable. Yet so far, Geralt hadn’t found a single trace of it, let alone of a common harpy.

His brooding was interrupted by a loud clang.

‘Whoops. Sorry for that. I’m just gonna… put this back…’ Jaskier very gingerly picked up the silver sword from where it had landed on the floor, after he had accidentally pushed from its place on the dresser. Their room in the inn wasn’t exactly spacious and the bard had been prancing around it nervously ever since they had arrived.

His behaviour had been weird from the get-go. As soon as Geralt had mentioned where his next contract was to take him, Jaskier’s eyes had gotten big and he had started to stumble over his words.

‘Lettenhove, you say? Oh well… You know, I think I’ll sit this one out. It gets cold so far up north and besides, I think I have a banquet to attend…’

Geralt had rolled his eyes, seemingly unimpressed.

‘Another cuckolded spouse?’ he had asked, but Jaskier had just shook his head.

The Witcher had tried to sound annoyed to hide his disappointment. He much preferred to have Jaskier by his side nowadays, even though he would never admit it out loud. The things he felt for the bard could never be voiced, it was a secret he’d take to his grave. Just the idea of someone like him, coarse and raw, touching Jaskier in the ways he wanted to seemed a sacrilege. If he had any sense at all, he should let him go for good, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

So he had casually mentioned the harpy queen and Jaskier’s ears had perked up. A rare monster, a monster worthy of songs! He had hemmed and hawed, but finally he had decided to come. Geralt hadn’t asked further about the reasons for his indecision. Some sort of romantic quarrel it had to be and he really hadn’t wanted to know the details.

Now they were here and the bard had been all nerves, even without a cuckold or jilted lover in sight, which was unusual enough. But again, Geralt didn’t ask. He had his hands full.

‘You know what is weird?’ he mused aloud to distract Jaskier and keep him from wreaking more havoc on his equipment. ‘Not only isn’t there a sign of any monster whatsoever, but everyone _willingly_ talks to me. And they all basically tell me the same story, to the letter.’ He grumbled. ‘Something’s not right.’

‘Well!’ The bard shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, but Geralt could see the badly veiled relief in his eyes. ‘No reason for us to stay then, is there? I’ll pack!’

‘No. We need to get to the bottom of this.’

Jaskier licked his lips. ‘Alright, fine then.’ He gave a small, unconvincing laugh. ‘But if I don’t get material for a proper epic out of this…’

He hesitated. Geralt tilted his head in expectation, but the bard didn’t find the words to finish his threat. Again, uncharacteristic.

‘Let’s get supper,’ the Witcher suggested.

  
  


The public parlour downstairs was relatively empty. Before they could choose a table, they were hailed by the innkeeper.

‘Hey, Witcher. There’s a letter for you.’

Geralt frowned. Who would send him a letter? Who even knew he was here?

He took the envelope the innkeeper passed him and his confusion only increased. The thick, cream coloured paper suggested a wealthy sender. He took it with him to the table where Jaskier had already sat down.

‘Uh, exciting!’ The bard beamed. ‘What is it? A love letter from a secret admirer perhaps? An urgent call to another heroic deed? Come on, open it!’

The Witcher remained silent. Under Jaskier’s watchful eyes he opened the envelope and found a card inside that had twirly words written on it in black ink, framed by way more flourishes than necessary and embossed with a crest at the right upper corner. He read it and frowned once more.

‘Oh, come on, Geralt, stop keeping me in suspense. What does it say?’

Jaskier leaned over the table to get a peek and Geralt could feel the warmth emanating from him, could smell the flowery oils he used and the more earthy undertones of his natural scent. There was also a sour tinge that wasn’t usually there and betrayed tension. He shot him a quick glance. Maybe he should ask what was wrong. Would that be intruding? Maybe. Or maybe, Jaskier would actually be grateful, being who he was.

‘Well?’

Oh, right, the letter. Geralt cleared his throat and read it aloud.

‘”The Viscount and Viscountess de Lettenhove cordially invite Sir Geralt of Rivia, Witcher of the School of the Wolf, and The Honourable Julian Alfred Pankratz to their banquet at Lettenhoven Castle tomorrow night.”’ Geralt huffed. ‘Why would they do that? And who the fuck is Julian Alfred Pankratz? Am I supposed to know him?’

Jaskier made a sound like a cat coughing up a hairball. He cleared his throat and started scratching the back of his neck. Geralt tilted his head and raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Jaskier, what..? Why are you being so weird lately?’

Alright, not the empathetic inquiry after the bard’s emotional state that he had imagined, but that just wasn’t him.

Jaskier took a deep breath. ‘Well… er… it’s er… The thing is… I will be straight with you here, Geralt… Erm…’

‘Godamnit, Jaskier, spit it out!’

The bard breathed out sharply as if to gather courage. ‘It’s me.’

‘What is you?’

‘It’s me, it’s…’ Jaskier gestured impatiently towards the invitation. ‘The Honourable Julian Alfred Pankratz. That’s me.’

‘What?’

‘Jaskier is a stage name, Geralt.’

 _What now?_ The Witcher opened his palms to the ceiling in a surrendering gesture. ‘You never told me.’

‘Oh, like you’re such an open book! You of all people can hardly blame anyone for drawing a veil of silence over their past.’ He crossed his arms in front of his chest. ‘Besides, it’s not like you ever asked.’

‘Hmm.’

Jaskier was right. Geralt firmly believed that everyone’s past was their own. He didn’t go poking around in people’s lives. Granted, he might even discourage anyone from imparting their biographies on him, but that was for their own good. He wasn’t the best choice for anyone to confide in. He never found the right words to say. But he had to admit, he had become curious.

‘Care to elaborate?’

Jaskier sighed theatrically. ‘Well, I suppose the jig is up. Might as well tell you everything. I am…’ He paused for dramatic suspense. ‘I am heir apparent to the Viscount de Lettenhove. I’m his son. I ran away when I was seventeen to become a travelling musician.’

‘Hmm.’

Case in point. Geralt had no idea what to say to that. _So what?_ , was the only thing that came to mind and he had an inkling that it wouldn’t go down well with Jaskier. He stared at the invitation in his hands while his brain tried to work out the proper words. But instead of doing what it was supposed to, it came up with an idea. He raised his head.

‘We should go.’

The bard blinked at him in disbelief. ‘Come again? You never go to banquets willingly. I practically have to drag you, and now…’

‘They might know something.’

‘What could they possibly know?’

‘Why the townsfolk is behaving so strangely. Who put out such a high reward for a harpy queen that doesn’t seem to exist.’

Jaskier’s face fell and something in Geralt’s chest twitched. He suddenly felt sorry for the bard, even though he didn’t quite understand why. He loved banquets, didn’t he?

‘Look, Geralt.’ Jaskier’s voice sounded hoarse, vulnerable. ‘I do not have the fondest memories of my parents, if I’m being honest. So I’d… I’d rather not.’

The Witcher pressed his lips together. It didn’t feel right to pressure his companion into this, but there were lives at stake. ‘I’m not good at, you know… talking. You have a way better chance at extracting information. Jaskier, this might actually save people.’

The bard snuffled, but then nodded in defeat. ‘Fine then. We’ll go.’

The twinge in Geralt’s chest intensified, but he tried his best to ignore it. Jaskier would be fine, he told himself. There wouldn’t be anyone at this banquet he couldn’t protect him from.

  
  


It was like any other banquet Jaskier had ever made him attend. Except it was not. Because all Geralt could think about when he saw the marble arches, the chandeliers, the expensive dresses and the exquisite food was that this was where Jaskier had grown up. This was the world he belonged in, filled with noblemen and noblewomen, with people of refined taste and delicate features. Why he ever chose to leave all this behind to travel with _him_ , Geralt couldn’t possibly fathom.

The bard kept close to him. He had dressed in a garish pink satin doublet with golden embroideries that the Witcher had loudly snorted at, even though he had to admit to himself that the bard looked really, really good in it. But then again, he looked good in everything.

‘So, these are your people,’ Geralt observed.

Before Jaskier could answer, they were practically assaulted by a women in a flamboyant purple dress.

‘By the Gods, Julian, it’s really you! Oh my.’ She pressed her hand to her chest and choked back tears. ‘Come here, sweetheart!’ She pulled Jaskier into an embrace. The bard tensed up, his arms remained stiff at his side.

‘Hello, mother.’

The Viscountess de Lettenhove let him go and waved to someone behind her. ‘Your father will be so pleased to see you!’ She waved again, a little less patient this time. ‘Everyone’s taking up his time, of course. Oh, sweetheart, dear, I’m so glad you came. We haven’t seen you in years! How haggard you look!’

She patted Jaskier on the shoulders and the bard tensed again. Geralt could smell how uncomfortable he was – a metallic smell, sharp and cold – and almost regretted to have brought him here.

‘Ah, Julian!’ A plump little man had made his way through the crowd and reached his hand out to touch Jaskier’s shoulder. The bard flinched and took a step back. ‘A little jumpy, are we?’ The man laughed amiably. ‘Well now, son, have some wine, it’ll calm you down. It’s a wonderful vintage!’

‘No, thanks.’

Geralt had never heard Jaskier turn down an offer for drinks before. He definitely felt guilty now for having dragged him into this. Best to get it over with quickly. He cleared his throat to draw attention to himself.

‘Ah, of course, the famous Witcher!’ Jaskier’s father offered his hand and Geralt shook it. ‘Forgive us our neglect, but we haven’t seen our son in what now? Going on three years? We got a little excited. Of course we have been hearing about his adventures with you.’

Geralt tried a cordial smile. ‘Of course you have. Speaking of adventures: There is something we would like to discuss.’

‘Oh, now is not he time for serious talk,’ Jaskier’s mother chirped. ‘This is a festivity!’

‘Mother, please.’ The bard’s voice was shaking a little, probably unnoticeable for human ears. ‘It’s important.’

She smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Why, of course, sweetheart, anything for you. Let’s meet in the study in half an hour and we’ll talk, yes? Your father and I do have a little surprise for you anyway.’

The viscount and viscountess disappeared into the crowd and Jaskier let out a trembling breath.

Geralt felt his fingers twitch. He wanted to touch him, wanted to give his shaking frame a little sense of stability, but he didn’t dare to.

‘That didn’t go too bad,’ he grumbled instead.

‘Yes. I think I’ll have some of the wine after all,’ Jaskier muttered and disappeared into the crowd before Geralt could do anything about it.

He let him go. If it had been him, he would have wanted to be alone now. _But Jaskier’s not like you_ , a voice in his head said. He ignored it.

When the time had come, the bard found him again. He didn’t look as drunk as he had feared he would be.

‘The wine is horrible,’ the bard complained. ‘Really, my father never had good taste in these things. Is it even a banquet when you can’t get sloshed properly?’

Geralt growled. ‘Don’t forget why we’re here.’

‘Yes, of course. It’s always business with you, isn’t it? Come on, the study is this way.’

The Witcher followed. It was a good thing that Jaskier knew his way around, because this castle, as castles tended to be, was a maze. Geralt was able to find his way in the wilderness without a compass and blindfolded, but in structures like these he would starve before he found the pantry.

The bard in front of him stomped his feet with every step. Geralt felt the urge to ask him if he was alright – which he clearly wasn’t. He silently tried out a few words, rolled them around in his mouth, but nothing felt appropriate.

And then they arrived and it was too late.

The study was a comfortable room, lit by countless candles. Jaskier’s parents made them sit on plushy sofas and offered tea and biscuits, which they both declined. It was quite awkward.

The viscountess started the conversation. ‘So, Julian, what is it you so urgently need to discuss?’

Her son cleared his throat nervously. ‘Well, it’s… er… it’s about the harpy queen that is supposedly terrorising the town.’

The aristocratic couple bandied looks.

‘We, that is, Geralt and I, have noticed that…’

‘Let me stop you right there, son.’ Jaskier’s father rose from his seat and started pacing. ‘There is no need to pretend any further, so I’ll be straight with you: There is no harpy.’

‘Come again?’

The man sighed. ‘Listen, Julian, you do know, your mother and I only want what is best for you, don’t you?’

This time, Geralt could smell _terror_ oozing from Jaskier, coppery and foul. He sat up and sharpened his senses. What was he missing?

‘You have always been ruthless when it came to what’s best for me,’ the bard admitted through gritted teeth.

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ his mother chirped.

‘Don’t call me sweetheart!’

‘Don’t talk to your mother like that!’ The mellow expression Jaskier’s father had worn until now changed into sharp edges and bared teeth in an instant. He made a move towards his son, then shot a glance towards Geralt and stopped. Jaskier had already turned his head as if expecting a blow.

The Witcher clenched his jaw. Bit by bit he put the puzzle together and it didn’t make for a nice picture. He cursed at himself for having dragged Jaskier here. He had tried to tell him, hadn’t he?

The viscountess took over. ‘We desperately needed to see you, dear, and we sent letter after letter to locations were you had been seen, but to no avail. So, to get you here, we lured your Witcher with the story of a harpy queen in the hopes that you would follow. We made it up and instructed everyone in town to play along. Do you see how desperate you made us, dear, how you forced us to put on this charade just to talk to you?’ Her face showed convincing dismay. ‘You will be paid, of course,’ she added hastily with a gesture towards Geralt.

The Witcher frowned in disbelief. Were these people fucking serious? He got ready to leave, but hesitated when he noticed that Jaskier stayed put and gazed down at his fidgeting hands.

‘I didn’t… I didn’t force you to…,’ the bard tried to defend himself with a choked voice, but trailed off.

‘Don’t make up excuses, son. It is high time you stop gallivanting about with Witchers – no offence, Sir Geralt – and come home. You are my heir, you have responsibilities.’

‘Listen, dear,’ his mother chimed in. ‘The reason we need you here so urgently is that we have procured the hand of the most eligible heiress of the Northern Kingdoms for you. If you marry her and father her children, your heirs will be Kings of Temeria! Now, how does that sound?’

Jaskier’s jaw clenched, but he kept his head down. ‘That’s not… I don’t think…’

‘Luckily for all of us, you don’t need to think, son, just do what you’re told to. The marriage contract cost us a pretty penny, so hopefully, you will not disappoint us this time. You have let us down often enough, don’t you think?’

‘I… I…’

The bard was lost for words. Geralt had never seen him so despondent. His instincts told him to grab him and drag him out of here, but that would probably seriously antagonise his parents. He had no idea how many of their guard they kept close – most likely enough to handle a Witcher who was equipped for a banquet, not a battle.

So he just leaned over to Jaskier and whispered, ‘We should leave.’

‘You keep out of it!’ his father shouted. ‘You are the cause of it all, Witcher.’

‘Hmm.’

Geralt felt the desperate urge to put this man in his place and he wasn’t sure for how much longer he could control his temper.

Luckily enough, the Witcher’s suggestion seemed to have stirred Jaskier’s rebellious nature again. He rose to his feet, his hands were clenched into fists and his whole body was trembling. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again.

His father snarled. ‘Please don’t make a scene again, son. You’re too old for that.’

‘You simply have to, dear,’ his mother cooed. ‘It will be so beneficial for us all.’

Jaskier bit his lip and dropped his gaze. It made Geralt’s heart ache for him.

‘You _don’t_ have to,’ he muttered and that seemed to help. The bard looked at him with wide eyes as if that thought hadn’t occurred to him before.

‘Go,’ the Witcher urged him softly. ‘Go, I’ll be with you in a minute.’

The bard nodded. He glanced at his parent’s one more time and hesitated, but finally, he turned and hurried out of the room as if the invisible bonds that had kept him had been cut.

The viscount made a move to follow, but Geralt stepped between him and the door. ‘Leave him be,’ he snarled. ‘If you ever try anything like that again, I will not be as lenient.’

Jaskier’s father huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. ‘Fine, Witcher, how much?’

Geralt furrowed his brow as he tried to make sense of the words.

The viscount rolled his eyes impatiently. ‘How much do we have to pay you to let him go?’

Oh, he was making it seriously hard not to go feral on him and his wife. The Witcher took a deep breath to calm his wrath. ‘I’m not keeping him.’

‘Oh, come on, you can’t tell me he follows you around _willingly_.’

Geralt growled deep in his throat and the man took a step back. ‘As a matter of fact, he does. But you two wouldn’t know loyalty if it spit you in the face, would you?’

‘You can’t talk to us like that!’ the mother crowed.

He was so close to burst with rage. But he thought of Jaskier and how little anyone had to gain from a fight with his family and all of Lettenhove. So he managed to turn around and walk away, while the viscount and viscountess shouted rudely after him.

  
  


He followed the trail of Jaskier’s scent he could so easily pick out from the crowd. This time the flowery and earthy smell was mingled with that of saltwater.

He found him in the park underneath a tree. In the dark of the night his figure melted into the shadows, but Geralt’s eyes picked him out easily. He stopped in his tracks when he heard him sobbing. Should he leave him alone? Would it be intrusive to offer his company? Before he could make up his mind, Jaskier noticed him.

Immediately, the bard got quiet and hastily rubbed his hands over his face in a feeble attempt to hide his tears.

‘Well, I suppose, we’ll be leaving in the morning,’ he mumbled. ‘Let’s head back to the inn.’

He was about to slip past Geralt, when the Witcher quickly stuck out his hand to catch him at the waist.

The bard stopped and looked up at him in surprise. His eyes were red and his cheeks stained with the trails of his tears. It broke Geralt’s heart to see him like this and to know that all of this was his own fault. Damn it, he should say something, shouldn’t he?

But instead, he hesitantly stroked the tears from Jaskier’s face with his thumb. The bard closed his eyes and the sour smell that had surrounded him for these past few days slowly melted away. Encouraged by this, Geralt tightened his grip around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him into his chest. The bard let it happen and relaxed his body against Geralt’s. He buried his face deep into the Witcher’s neck and started sobbing again, clinging to him like he was drowning. Geralt rested his free hand on the back of his head and softly combed his fingers through his hair.

‘It’s alright,’ he whispered. ‘I’m here. You’ll be alright.’

The bard’s slender frame shook with his sobs and Geralt pulled him a little bit closer. He could feel his heart beat through his chest that pressed so snug against his own, felt how it slowed down gradually. The sobs became softer and less frequent, but Geralt held onto him, until Jaskier himself pulled away a bit, still staying in the Witcher’s careful embrace. His face was red and wet with crying, but his eyes looked calmly into Geralt’s.

‘Thank you. That was nice.’ It was a hoarse whisper, barely audible, but it warmed the Witcher’s heart. Suddenly his own hands didn’t seem so coarse to him anymore.

‘We should really be heading back though,’ Jaskier suggested in between sniffles. ‘It’s getting late.’

  
  


The bard kept silent all the way to the inn. He seemed lost in thought and Geralt was busy enough in his own head. His hands still felt like they were tingling from touching Jaskier, from holding him so close. His neck was still a little wet where the bard had cried into it and he didn’t bother to dry it off. It proved to him that it had really happened, that he had held Jaskier in his arms and had not hurt him. On the contrary, his hands had managed to bring him comfort, a little bit of peace, even. Maybe, if he worked on it, just maybe, his words could, too.

They settled in for the night. But long after they had put out the candle, Geralt still lay awake and stared into the darkness, even though he was knackered. Fighting monsters was one thing, he could do it for days on end without sleeping. But this day had been a very different kind of exhausting.

And Jaskier next to him… They had slept in the same bed many times before, but this time, the bard’s body heat seemed to seep through the covers and into his skin.

‘Geralt? Are you awake?’

Obviously, he wasn’t the only one who had trouble sleeping.

‘Hmm.’

‘Listen, I… I have been thinking…’

The bard sat up. Geralt could see him perfectly in the dark.

‘What if…’ Jaskier swallowed. ‘What if they are right? I mean, I _do_ have a responsibility, haven’t I?’

Now the Witcher sat up, too.

‘What do you mean? To your parents?’

‘Well, yes. Even though they…’ He swallowed. ‘They ever only had the best intentions, I’m sure, even though they were a bit… a bit rough sometimes. A bit overzealous, perhaps.’

‘Jaskier,’ Geralt interrupted. ‘They are not good people. They abused you. I have never seen you like that before.’

Silence answered him and he cursed himself in his own head. The wrong words, apparently, again. Too rough, too brutal.

‘Well, yes, I suppose,’ Jaskier conceded. ‘But, I mean… I will be viscount one day. I have… subjects, I guess, that rely on me taking over, don’t I?’

Geralt’s tired mind had trouble to comprehend what Jaskier was saying.

‘You want to stay?’

‘I don’t _want_ to. I’m just saying, it might be the right thing to do.’

 _No. No, please, no._ Geralt clenched his jaw. Just the thought of Jaskier leaving him for good made his stomach turn. But then again…

‘It is your birth right,’ he muttered. ‘I suppose you belong here.’

‘Yeah…’ The bard looked down at his fidgeting hands. ‘You’d probably be glad to be rid of me, eh? No more nagging, no more blabbering, just… blessed silence.’

 _Gods, no!_ ‘I… wouldn’t put it like that.’

Jaskier raised his gaze in surprise. ‘No? Then how would you put it?’

Good question. Damned if he knew! If he only had the bard’s words at his disposal, but all he had was his own meagre vocabulary. Maybe that had to be enough. He couldn’t be anyone else but himself, could he?

He breathed deeply. ‘I would not be glad to be rid of you. Also, I don’t mind your blabbering so much anymore.’

He cringed at his own words, clumsy as they were, but curiously enough they made Jaskier’s face light up with a smile. His eyes were unfocused – he probably couldn’t see Geralt in the dark. ‘Really? And why is that?’

The Witcher licked his lips nervously. He couldn’t say it. Could he? Maybe not in so many words… He scooted over to Jaskier’s side of the bed, so close that the bard could actually see him. But he didn’t back away. If anything, he leaned in a bit closer. Geralt felt his breath on his neck; it was agitated, shallow. He sniffed. The lemony smell of excitement filled the air. Hastily, before his nerves could get the better of him, he closed the distance between them and pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s lips.

As if the bard had only waited for this, he kissed back, eagerly, hungrily. Geralt’s lips burned, his stomach tingled. He had imagined this a thousand times, but he never expected it to be so overwhelming. His whole body felt like it was on fire.

Without parting their lips, Jaskier got up on his knees and gripped Geralt’s naked biceps tightly to push him back on the mattress, climb over him and sit on his lap. The Witcher let him do it and lightly rested his hands on Jaskier’s hips.

‘You are full of surprises,’ the bard mumbled against his mouth and Geralt smiled.

‘This is a good surprise, I hope?’ He had meant for it to sound seductive, but it came out a little more questioning that he had planned.

Jaskier backed away a bit so he could look him in the eyes. ‘A perfect surprise.’ He ran his hand through Geralt’s hair and leaned down to kiss him again.

‘You still want to stay?,’ the Witcher breathed in between heated kisses.

Jaskier sat up and laughed loudly, and Geralt noticed that it was the first time he laughed ever since Lettenhove had been mentioned. ‘No, definitely, definitely not. Or, in fact, I want to stay. With you, that is. If you’ll have me.’

Geralt tugged him down to kiss him again, but Jaskier wriggled free. ‘Nooo, you big oaf! Say it to me, with words. Please.’

The Witcher groaned.

‘I’m not good at this kind of thing.’

‘Oh, nonsense!’ Jaskier curled a strand of white hair around his finger. ‘You keep saying that, but you always know the right thing to say. Like back at the castle. I was so caught up in their game and you pulled me out of it.’ He rested both hands on Geralt’s chest now. They were warm and soft and made his heart beat a little faster. ‘Too many people disguise their true feelings with a thousand beautifully crafted yet meaningless words. Yours are rare and honest and that makes them a hundred times more precious.”

Jaskier looked at him, hope in his wide blue eyes. His lips, slightly parted in expectation and shiny from kissing, seemed to wait for Geralt to claim them again. And finally, the Witcher managed to give voice to the words he had been fussing over and over again in his head.

‘I want you to stay with me. I need you to be close, because you’re the only person I absolutely trust. I love you, Jaskier.’

He shut his mouth in shock. But the blush on the bard’s cheeks and his delighted expression made him smile.

‘See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’

‘You have no idea.’

‘Well, anyway… I love you too, you grumpy, old man.’

He leaned down to kiss him again, but this time, Geralt gently stopped him.

‘You’re alright though?’ He had wanted to ask it for so long and was almost surprised that all it took were a few simple words, spoken with kindness.

Jaskier sat up again and sighed. ‘Am I alright? Wow, big question.’ He looked down and lightly trailed his fingers along the Witcher’s stomach. ‘I suppose on most days I am. On other’s not so much.’ He interlaced his fingers with Geralt’s. ‘The days I’m with you are usually the better ones.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘But I’m not…’ Geralt hesitated. ‘That’s not what people generally feel in my vicinity.’

Jaskier tenderly stroked his thumbs along the Witcher’s hands. ‘I’m not people. And you, dear heart, are far too harsh on yourself. You are kind and loving and gentle, you just don’t know it yet, because everyone has always told you differently.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘It’s true.’

‘You’ll stay with me then?’

Jaskier smiled, squeezed Geralts’s hands a little tighter and dove in for another kiss, slow and soft. The Witcher kissed back and eventually parted their hands to wrap his arms around the bard’s shoulders and hold him tight.

Maybe, Geralt thought, just maybe the whole thing with words wasn’t so difficult, if you had the right person at your side who listened.


End file.
